


found a new country

by dandelionweed



Category: Actor RPF, The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit (2012) RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional/Abusive Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-09
Updated: 2013-04-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 00:13:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/754716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dandelionweed/pseuds/dandelionweed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"During those weeks when friends and family are allowed on set, everyone gets to meet and know Richard's asshole boyfriend.</p>
<p>Graham doesn't like him one bit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	found a new country

**Author's Note:**

> From this kinkmeme prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/4307.html?thread=10817235
> 
> Warnings for implied dysfunctional/abusive relationship, some cussing, and the considerable smearing of character of one of Richard's past co-stars. Massive apologies to him, I'm sure he's a perfectly nice person in real life.

  
It's nearing the end of the first block of shooting and things are winding down, the weather getting chillier, the cast and crew finding more excuses to get out of doors now that they have the time to do so, but always being chased back in by bouts of rain. Everybody is getting a little antsy in anticipation of the break. Even Peter seems more distracted than usual, spending more and more time bent over the schedules with Andy, making indecipherable scribbles in red pen and frowning while the rest of them wander about kicking at each others' heels. The restless atmosphere provides the edge of energy most of them had thought wiped out of them over months of training and studio filming, but to be perfectly honest, Graham thinks they're all going a little stir-crazy.

In light of this, perhaps it's not a surprise when there's a massive commotion the first day visitors are allowed on set.

Shooting ends a bit past noon that Friday, Peter working them all to the last second as per usual. The cast have agreed to go out for a big fuck-off dinner afterwards, plus ones and plus half-dozens allowed, a plan ensured to destroy at least a couple restaurants. When the first guests arrive, half of them are still in costume, which doesn't stop anyone from running out and dragging back their poor friends and family for burstingly-proud rounds of introductions.

Everyone takes turns being meltingly kind towards Peter and William's wives, who take it graciously enough. Adam's parents have flown in, and Adam is apparently trying to stop his castmates from pinching their cheeks. Aidan lets out a holler and dashes out, trailing glue and hair, to wrap his arms around his cousins, who are then presented with fanfare. Those of them with family living nearby are more reserved, but seem entertained by the contagious ruckus.

"It's like the end of the day at a bloody nursery school," marvels James to Graham, the both of them near the edge of the crowd. Neither of them have anybody in this week (James had shrugged apologetically -- his girls had school and all), and Graham's a little glad for the company, if he can admit it to himself. They watch together in amusement as Aidan sics his cousins on Dean, whose mustache is still on.

"I suppose you'd be different, then," Jed says good-naturedly.

"Much more dignified," James agrees, making a face in the direction of William and Nicole, busy snogging chastely in a corner. Graham snorts, and tries not to sound forlorn. It's not that he resents anybody's displays of affection, but it may be that they're disgustingly cute, and he'll not admit that he finds it so. Not in front of James, anyway.

Jed frowns, about to say something, but Aidan interrupts before he can.

"Oi, who's that?" Aidan says, in a tone that belatedly dwindles into what could only be called hushed on a stage. Jed and James are already looking.

The man just beyond earshot is standing on his own, clearly out of place. He's tall, nearly as tall as Graham, and strikingly handsome, with blond hair and a frown like a catalogue model's. There's something familiar about him, though Graham can't place it. As they watch, he slips his phone into the pocket of his jacket and glances around.

"Did somebody forget to fetch their guest?" James murmurs, peering around as if to do a head-count. Everybody appears occupied already, and those who aren't merely glance at him surreptitiously.

The man is beginning to look out-of-sorts, and Graham feels sympathy overtake his curiosity for a moment. Aidan evidently feels the same way, and starts to head over to ask the man if he's looking for someone.

Before he can, however, a figure darts right past Graham. Aidan draws back, surprised.

It takes a moment for all of them to register that the figure is Richard, straight out of makeup in a jacket thrown quickly over a hoodie, and he's headed directly for the stranger. Richard is shoving his phone into his back pocket when the stranger spots him, eyes lighting up.

"No," Aidan lets out in stupefied disbelief, giving voice to all their sentiments, but it seems all of them are wrong, because a moment later the stranger has his arm around Richard's waist. And then -- insensitive to the complete shock of the gaggle of men watching them not twenty paces away -- they're kissing, the kind of slow, long kiss that ends films and cues credits.

Someone lets out a minor wolf-whistle, but only a small one. Thank God, Graham thinks, they're out of earshot.

Mark nearly falls over getting to them. "Did you know about this?" he hisses. James' eyebrows are disappearing into his hairline, and Jed shakes his head mutely. They make an effort to tear their gazes away (Mark has to elbow Aidan to make him close his mouth), and communicate briefly with a series of facial expressions. Graham doesn't look away. He was already facing in their direction before the spectacle arrived, so ignores the silent conversation in favor of watching Richard and the newcomer.

The man is exclaiming something now, holding Richard at arms' length. He's a bit taller than Richard, and he reaches over, rubs the back of his hand against the scruff on Richard's jaw; laughs, a bit amazed. Richard doesn't say anything, but he's smiling. Graham can tell by now that Richard never needs to say anything when he's smiling, the kind of smile that makes his eyes glow.

As Graham watches, Richard takes the man's hand, their fingers curling almost shyly together. As he leads the stranger over, he looks so happy, so content, all of the weight of the last few weeks of shooting falling off his shoulders, that Graham can't bring himself to examine why he has difficulty swallowing.

There are a few shuffles amongst the cast members who have obviously picked up on the same familiarity Graham had earlier, but nobody says anything until they make it over for an official introduction.

Richard says, soft, "This is Rupert."

Everybody says a cheerful hello. Rupert offers his hand and a perfect curve of the lips, and Graham doesn't know why he suddenly feels so old.

\--

Over the next few days it becomes evident that nobody knew about this. Somehow it comes out that this was a last-minute sort of decision, Rupert's schedule opening up for an unexpected visit. Richard didn't even know he'd made it until the plane touched down at the airport. Richard, of course, has never been the most forthcoming about his personal life, and a quick grapevine survey draws the conclusion that until now, nobody had known Rupert even existed. As long as Richard seems okay with it, though, everybody takes it in stride.

It makes very little difference to their routine after the initial excitement of friends and family settling in for the next little while. Everybody is a bit happier and slightly scarcer, and if Richard leaves in the direction of a different hotel in the evening, it's not any of their places to notice nor to care.

It makes no difference, really.

\--

Come Monday morning, 5 AM, Rupert is over at the catering table with Richard. Graham's surprised, then not sure why he's surprised. They've obviously come from the same place, and Rupert has nowhere else to be. Five in the morning is a bit early to be up, but -- Graham tries to muffle this voice in his mind -- it's also possible they weren't sleeping.

It's going to be a long day, and Richard usually has more scenes than the rest of them. Graham allows himself a moment of disapproval, then lets it go, feeling crabby.

Rupert says something that gets a laugh out of Richard. He returns the smile and takes his hand, then kisses him goodbye on the cheek. Richard goes to sit down and Rupert wanders off, half-empty coffee in his hand. Approaching the table, Graham reflects that most of them would let the bloke get away with quite a lot if it made Richard laugh that easily.

Emiline from catering is behind the table when he arrives. She's frowning vaguely in the direction of Rupert's departure, looking slightly perturbed.

"What's wrong?" Graham asks.

"Nothing," she says. Graham looks dubious, but Emiline shakes her head and smiles more convincingly. Graham takes his bowl of fruit and forgets about it.

\--

Graham remembers a day later, when he leaves the make-up trailer rubbing glue off his chin and finds Aidan and Dean together at a table. They're sitting close enough together to appear wary, but looking more amused than anything at the moment. On the bench across from them is Rupert. He's relaxed, if slightly perplexed, clearly waiting for Richard. Mark is apparently trying to make small-talk with him, but Rupert merely nods, mouth curled at the corners.

Graham makes his way over. This has obviously been going on for a while, because Mark has resorted to hand gestures, which Rupert isn't even attempting to follow. Mark glances over at Dean, somewhat at a loss. Dean grins back, shaking his head. Mark sighs and graciously takes his leave.

Rupert watches Mark leave, then without dropping the curl of his mouth, says with some derision, "Does he always talk like that?"

Dean blinks slowly, face going neutral. "Talk like what?"

"Like a drunken sixth-form schoolgirl," Rupert says.

This is, Graham will admit, not an inaccurate description of some of Mark's best. It would be funny if James said it, maybe. Dean appears to think the same, judging by his lightly skeptical expression.

This leaves Aidan to lean in and quip, "The question is, mate, how often do you need to talk to drunken sixth-form schoolgirls to know that?"

Rupert smiles, a bland, charming smile. "Ah," he says.

When Richard appears a moment later, all three of them exchange glances and thank the heavens.

\--

Graham and Adam are waiting outside wardrobe, waiting for their turns to be de-dwarfed. Rupert is lounging against the wall a short distance away. Maybe it's Dwalin's stoic air that allows Graham to ignore the man's stare, but Adam, tugging at Ori's knitted sleeves, offers a good-natured beam and a wave.

"Rupert, right?" Graham hears him say.

Rupert tilts his head evaluatingly. "Are you one of the ones from around here?" he says.

"No, I'm Adam. I'm from London."

"Oh." Rupert sounds surprised. "Have I seen you in anything?"

Adam looks taken aback. "Er. Not likely, but fingers crossed, you'll see me in this by the end of next year," he says.

"Doubtful," Rupert snorts. There's a pause, and then, "What with the…" Rupert gestures at his own face to indicate the prosthetics.

"Right," Adam says uncomfortably. "Well, three hours in the make-up chair and all! I suppose the noses and the beards deserve their own spotlight after all this."

"Really?" Rupert raises a brow. "I hope it looks better on the screen than it does in life," he says.

Adam opens his mouth, but the door to wardrobe opens and someone calls, "We're ready for you, Adam." Adam throws Graham a grimace, and beats a hasty retreat.

Graham only later discovers why Rupert is waiting outside of wardrobe: he'd been gently removed from the make-up trailer earlier by Jed and Stephen. It takes a lot to upset Tami, and Graham's sure nobody had wanted to be the one to find out how much until now.

\--

"My God, what a tosser," James says the next time they meet.

"Who," Graham says, though he has a feeling he knows.

"Armitage's lad," James says.

"That's a bit unfair," Graham says.

"Takes one to know one," James says tersely, and Graham pauses. "Lee's been listening to him slag off the American television industry for the past forty minutes. Why does he keep loitering around here?"

"He's allowed to this week."

"No, I mean, why is he here?" James says, stressing the question. "Not to say Dickie is the most sensible of all of us --" He cuts himself off.

"Look, if it makes him happy --" Graham says.

"Yes, I know," James says, chastised. Then, uncharacteristically: "Forget I said anything."

Graham raises his eyebrows, but James is gone.

The next time he sees them together it's late evening, and Richard's been out all day doing pick-ups. Richard looks bone-weary just walking across the lot, but he brightens when Rupert gets up from the table where he's been sitting and checking his phone. Graham watches as Rupert says a few words and slides in next to Richard, slipping his hand in Richard's back pocket. Richard nudges him. Rupert sidles in closer, says something in his ear; Richard looks down, and then back up, a concession. The gravel crunches beneath their feet as they walk off.

If it makes him happy, Graham repeats to himself.

But the next day, Rupert is nowhere to be seen, and Richard just looks more tired than before.

\--

"Do any of you know what on Earth Ian has been reading to my children?" Martin demands, making his unceremonious appearance at their table.

"Martin! Good of you to join us," James says. Martin glares at him and pulls up a chair from another table at the restaurant. Everybody shuffles to make room.

"McKellen's been minding them?" Jed looks incredulous.

Martin looks mournful. "He seems like such a nice man, doesn't he?"

"You should've checked before foisting your children off on the wizard so you two could go shagging like hobbits all across Wellington," James chides. Martin makes a rude gesture, and even Richard grins.

"I don't blame you," Rupert says when the laughter dies down. "Out of sight, out of mind, right?"

Martin does a double-take, then shifts his chair around to focus on him. "Oh, you're new," Martin says intently. "Do I know you?"

"You might have seen me around. At the market. On the telly," Rupert offers his hand.

Martin gives it a cursory shake, squinting at Rupert's face all the while. "Yes, that old thing," Martin says. "But we haven't met?"

"He's been here since Friday," someone points out, and gets an elbow in the ribs.

"Sorry," Richard says. "Martin, this is Rupert. Rupert, Martin."

Martin nods. "Enjoying New Zealand?" Martin says, which is the most polite Martin gets. Richard is, Graham reflects, a wonderful influence. After a few days around him, everybody is a little softer and grudgingly kinder, despite themselves.

"The winters are certainly nicer down here," Rupert says. "Less fuss and attention, as well."

"Yes, well, that's something we're trying to change. God knows there needn't be a corner of the world that hasn't a billboard with my face on it," Martin declares. "But I am looking forward to people congratulating me on something they've actually seen," he adds. "Though I don't blame them skipping out on some of my back catalogue, not everybody has the time to appreciate genius."

Rupert smiles beatifically. "I know. I wouldn't watch some of the rubbish I've been in on the BBC, either."

There is a moment of silence, and then Martin drags his chair forwards, brow furrowed in amazement. "Yes, tell me, why haven't we met before?" Rupert stares back, and Graham is suddenly conscious of the complete lack of conversation going on at the table.

"Martin, do you want a menu?" Adam says loudly into the pause. "I'll get one for you."

There's a murmur of people attempting to get up and follow him, followed by a hushed debate over how many people it takes to get a menu and how many are allowed to go to the loo at once.

Richard, who has been looking more and more uncomfortable, sighs. "You know what, I'm a little tired, I think I'll turn in early," he says, cutting the chatter. Everybody looks sorry immediately, but he sets down his napkin and gets up. "I'll see you tomorrow on set," he says with a small smile, and then glances at Rupert.

Rupert nods, inclines his head at the rest of them, and follows Richard out.

The table watches them disappear around the corner, waving benignly, if tightly. When they're out of sight, Martin turns around in his chair.

"Who the fuck was that?" he asks.

Aidan rolls his eyes moodily, nursing his cup of coffee. "Richard's boyfriend," he mumbles. Dean rubs him on the back as if he'd just coughed something up.

"WHAT a cunt," Martin announces, slightly impressed.

"I said so!" James says.

Martin continues to look amazed. "I leave you alone for three days --"

"Five days --"

"-- three days, and this is what happens? Christ. How long has this been going on?"

"No clue, but the guy has been dragging Richard off every moment we've had to breathe since he got here," Dean says.

"And if you mean all of us trying to avoid the smarmy bastard, nearly as long," Aidan says gloomily. "He's everywhere."

"Well, he seems like a nice bloke! I can see why Richard enjoys his company," Martin says, extremely dubious.

There's a few nods and murmurs of assent, but Graham shifts uneasily. He feels James's eyes on him, and the thing nobody is saying, the thing that makes the room so tense, is that Richard has been quieter than usual since he got here. Quieter, and more tired, and more subdued, and as much as they want to say Richard's happy -- as much as any of them would keep their mouths shut and their opinions to themselves for Richard's sake -- they're not sure.

"Normally I'd be glad that a disaster only happened in my absence, but apparently you lot actually cannot manage without me," Martin says, and the words are light-hearted but Graham senses something about them that is not entirely flippant. Martin cares about Richard, same as any of them.

"What's Andy had you doing, anyway?" Jed asks, curious.

Martin scowls. "Cave-exploring pick-ups," he says.

"Is that a euphemism," James says, and Martin actually kicks him.

"I mean it, though," Martin says, after, and his eyes seek out Graham. "If that fucker does anything, punch him for me, will you? I'd do it myself," he amends, "but it would probably hurt more coming from you."

Someone claps him on the back, and Graham's not usually one for violence or intimidation, but honestly, he doesn't need to be told.

\--

The next day is mucky and dark, an uncharacteristically warm night rolling in clouds of mist that rapidly cool with daybreak. The result is that everything is damp and miserably cold. Peter's doing some last-minute shooting on the Rivendell set, meaning that for the first time this week, the dwarves are split up. Ken, Richard, Martin, Ian and Hugo have been at the studio since about five in the morning. Graham's call isn't until about two in the afternoon.

He spends the morning in his trailer, flipping through the scripts without really seeing them. There's no dialogue he needs to know. He puts on music, but discovers he can't bother to listen.

He finds himself staring at the copy of The Silmarillion Richard lent him. (There's about four copies between all of the dwarves, and Richard had shrugged: "I remember most of it by now, anyway," he'd said.)

At about noon he gives up and makes his way to the set.

The crew is just wrapping up, Peter and Andy reviewing the dailies, the studio slowly emptying for lunch. Ian is in makeup, Hugo in wardrobe. Martin and Ken are already done. Richard is nowhere to be found.

It's Ken who spots him as he approaches, from where he and Martin are stationed outside the makeup trailer. They're both in dressing gowns, heads bent close, talking in low voices. Ken shoots him a worried glance, which causes Martin to look up, and Graham slows.

Martin straightens and beckons Graham over. "Give me your hand," he orders.

Graham complies. Martin pulls out a felt-tip pen.

When Graham pulls his hand back, there's a message scrawled across his knuckles. He turns his hand around to read it. MARTIN SAYS HELLO.

Martin caps the pen, turns his back, and says, quite seriously, "Go."

Graham goes.

\--

The lights are on in Richard's trailer. He can see them through the blinds drawn on the windows. The rest of the trailers are dark, and the corner of the lot seems deserted.

Graham speeds up as he gets closer. He tries to think of a reason for knocking, but before he can make it there, the door flies open. Richard storms out, slamming it shut behind him so hard it makes a metallic screech, as if it's dented the rickety frame.

Graham stops short, startled, and Richard nearly strides right past him before seeing him. He flinches, halts, and abruptly changes direction to head away from Graham.

"Richard!" Graham calls involuntarily, and hurries to catch up.

"Just give me five minutes," Richard calls over his shoulder, and his voice is shaky.

"Wait. Richard --" Graham reaches Richard, grabs his elbow and finally stops the other man. Richard turns to face him, and Graham stills.

Richard clearly sees the concern in Graham's face, because his mouth thins after a moment. "I'm fine," he says shortly.

There's an awkward pause, both of them looking at each other. Graham finally steps back, letting go of Richard's arm. Richard straightens his sleeve, then looks at Graham, apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have --"

"It's okay," Graham says, automatic. Richard looks uncertain.

Graham's phone is buzzing. He realizes he's been ignoring it.

"Do they need you on set?" Richard asks.

"They can wait," Graham says.

Richard's mouth twists into a wry smile. "You should get going," he says.

Graham hesitates. "If anything's the matter --"

"I'll be fine."

Someone appears at the end of the lot. She spots Graham and breaks into a light jog. From the look of relief on her face, she's been searching for him for a while now.

Graham doesn't want to leave, but when he looks back at Richard, Richard is watching him.

"I'll talk to you later," Richard says quietly. It sounds like a promise.

By the time the assistant arrives, talking rapidly into her headset, Richard has turned around and is heading back to his trailer. Graham lets himself be led away, glancing back over his shoulder as Richard takes a deep breath, shoulders squared, head bowed, hand on the door handle.

They round the corner and Graham tries to focus on what the production assistant is saying, but all he can see is the dark blue-purple marks around Richard's left wrist where his sleeve pulled up. They've all had their share of scrapes and bruises from on-set accidents, but none of them look like fingerprints.

\--

Richard usually goes to the gym on Thursdays after work. Graham knows the cast are going out for dinner tonight though, and he's not sure where Richard will be. Graham grabs himself some food after the shoot and begins to head into town, wondering where to go, when Jed rings and decides for him.

"Don't bother coming up," Jed says. He'd left set a little earlier than Graham, being one of the first ones out. "Richard's been at the pub here. That wanker's spent all afternoon trying to buy him a drink."

"It's a Thursday," Graham says.

"I know."

"Are they there now?"

"They left a little earlier. I think Richard went back to set to get something, and nobody's seen them since."

Graham hangs up, turns around and heads back to the studio.

\--

The lot is entirely dark by the time Graham gets back, quiet and almost completely empty. A security guard spots him and moves to intercept him before stopping, recognition sparking in his eyes. He nods at Graham before going back to his post.

Graham makes his way through the winding network of corridors between the trailers. It feels like a ghost town this evening, still and abandoned. Graham can barely see his own hands in front of him. His feet carry him onward, though in this light he can't even be sure where they are.

He makes his way down the last row of trailers, past the edge of the lot, right outside to the margin of the road. There's a tall streetlamp at the end of it, casting long amber shadows. Beneath it is a solitary figure sitting on top of a picnic table, backlit against the greenscreen rigging in the distance.

Richard is sitting with his back to Graham, neck bent, arms resting on his knees. There's a bottle of water glittering on the tabletop. A dog-eared copy of Henry V lies next to it, neglected, a pencil stuck between the pages as if he'd been making notes in it before he lost interest. Graham wonders how long he's been sitting there, staring out into the dark.

"Here."

Richard blinks up at the paper-wrapped sandwich Graham is holding out to him.

"You're missing supper," Graham says.

After a beat, Richard takes the sandwich. "Thank you," he says, surprised.

Graham watches from behind as he peels the paper gingerly apart. Richard is in nothing but jeans and a t-shirt, and Graham can see his shoulderblades shifting beneath the fabric. It bothers Graham how young Richard can sometimes look from the back, despite all the training and the weight-lifting; Graham always forgets how fragile he seems without the padding.

Richard takes a small bite, and then another larger one, chewing thoughtfully, as if suddenly aware of being hungry. It's a fair bet he missed lunch as well, Graham thinks.

Graham hesitates. "Where's Rupert?"

Richard swallows. "Probably burying a corpse somewhere on the premises," he says dryly. Then he catches Graham's eye and says, "I can sense you don't like him very much."

Graham grimaces, but there's really no point denying it.

Richard sighs. "I think he's inside, sorting all the cutlery or something," he gestures over his shoulder at the faint light coming from one of the trailers. Graham wonders if they fought, and if so, why Rupert isn't the one sitting out here. But then Richard isn't the sort who would kick someone out of his own trailer, even if he was angry. "He's just…" Richard trails off. "He's not usually so difficult to get along with. He's just -- far from home."

So are you, Graham thinks. So am I. "A lot of us are."

Richard glances at him for a long moment, and away again. "He reacts to new things with hostility sometimes," he says. "New people."

And this is all new. Richard being here in New Zealand. Richard meeting so many new people. Richard being a lead in such a massive, promising project, working with some of the biggest names in the industry. None of them say it out loud -- out of some sense of caution, Graham suspects, wary of tempting fate -- but everybody seems to function on the same unspoken, excited knowledge, an anxious and eager tension running through all of them on set. This is the one that's going to change things. This is the one that's going to change everything.

Graham wonders if Rupert has caught on as well. For the first time, Richard is leaving him behind instead of the other way around.

Graham thinks of the barely-noticeable nervous twitch of Richard's fingers at the first table reading, of the amazement in his eyes the first time they stepped into a soundstage made up to look like a troll cave and felt the soil beneath their feet. He wonders how Rupert could give a damn.

Graham says eventually, "Did you argue over this job?"

Richard says nothing.

There's a wind picking up, and Graham watches Richard tilt his head, shadows pooling like ink under his eyelashes, along the curve of his jaw, down the groove of his spine. They're facing the ocean somewhere beyond the walls, and though they can't see the water from here, the cold air still smells of salt. Graham finds himself wanting to reach out, but he's not sure for what.

Richard doesn't seem to notice. He shifts slightly, and suddenly his posture looks so exhausted, so uncertain and small, Graham does reach out. He takes off his own jacket, worn material faded in the light, and steps forward to settle it around Richard's shoulders. Richard looks up, but Graham stays where he is. He briefly tightens his grip on Richard's shoulders, and waits for the other man to meet his gaze.

There's any number of things Graham could say. Graham's not sure how to express exactly what he needs to get across, though, or how important it seems all of a sudden.

In the end, he keeps it simple, and fierce, and honest.

"We're glad you're here," he says quietly.

Richard, taken aback, studies him warily for a moment. Then something changes in his expression, and his shoulders relax as if a weight's been lifted from them. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. It's like the sun coming out from behind clouds.

Richard presses his fingers tentatively into the fabric of the jacket.

"Thank you," he says softly.

 

Graham doesn't know how long they sit out there under the streetlamp, but eventually Richard straightens up and gathers his things, stuffing the sandwich wrapper into his pocket. Graham stands, wanting to say something more, but there's nothing you can say to prolong a comfortable silence, really. Instead he finds himself saying:

"Tomorrow is the last official day of this block."

"So it is," Richard says.

"We're going out for drinks afterwards, the lads and I," Graham says. Richard is still looking at him expectantly. "Will you come?"

Richard pauses. "Just me," he clarifies.

"Just you," Graham agrees.

Then, quieter, Graham adds, "We've missed you."

Richard smiles faintly, wry.

"All right," he says.

As they walk back up to the trailers, Richard shrugs off Graham's jacket. Graham wants to tell him to keep it, but knows Richard can't. Not for now.

They stop in front of Richard's door. "What's that on your hand?" Richard asks suddenly.

Graham glances down at Martin's message. "Uh," he says. It's smudged from earlier, but still visible.

Richard laughs, a deep low laugh, and Graham ducks and smiles as well. Richard presses the jacket back into Graham's arms.

"After work," Richard says. "Tomorrow."

  
\--

  
They don't even wait until the rubbing alcohol is dry the next day. Everybody piles into the back of two vans, elbows jabbing and feet crunching, and they drive into town, shouting at each other over the wind the whole way.

Things Graham discovers this night:

1\. In a rowdy environment, instead of raising his voice to be heard, Richard will lean in. He will cock his head to the side to listen.

2\. When crushed between two people on a narrow seat, Richard will courteously rest his arms over the back to make more room.

3\. He's not the biggest drinker, but Richard can still casually drink at least one and a half Irishmen under the table without blinking.

4\. Richard knows drinking songs in four languages, but will only sing in three of them. When asked what the songs mean, he will only grin.

5\. If they go to a place with music and the music is loud enough, Richard will tap his foot and nod along involuntarily. Richard will linger at the edge of the dance floor; however, he will not dance.

6\. If they wait long enough, a girl will ask Richard to dance. He will look torn.

7\. If enough members of their party, including the most senior and distinguished, whisper frantically and encourage him, he will look reluctant, and then he will duck, and then he will look up and smile, and only then will he dance.

8\. Richard can dance.

Carefully and easily and perfectly on rhythm, bodies curled around one another but not too tight, just close enough to brush. The floor is packed, not least because of the dozen-and-a-half of them jammed into the room along with the usual crowd, but Richard will always have to bend over to get through doorways. The dancing is not exactly graceful, nor elaborate, so much as it is whatever movement is commanded by the beat. Richard does it like he does everything else worth his focus. Even the patently bad music and the outrageously awful rest of their party don't bother him, and neither do they bother Graham, who sits on the sidelines and forgets his drink.

When they tumble out into the night afterwards, half of them falling over the other half, a gleeful Aidan runs up behind Richard on the sidewalk and leaps onto him from the back. Richard doesn't even flinch -- just staggers a little, finds his footing and walks on, Aidan's legs wrapped around his waist. Richard glances around, finds Graham, and shoots him a little smirk.

Graham isn't drunk, but these are the only things he's really going to remember from this night. Frankly, he doesn't mind.

\--

Rupert is waiting at the gate when they get back to set. Six-foot-two, blond and sharp-eyed, and somehow, Graham thinks of dragons.

"Where've you been?"

The question is clearly directed at Richard, the rest of them ignored. Richard steps forward so as to draw the conversation aside, but Rupert doesn't budge.

"Out for a drink. I thought I told you," Richard says, looking surprised and guilty. "I thought you were at the hotel."

"Are you drunk?" Rupert looks concerned.

"No," Richard says truthfully. "We were celebrating," he adds, as if to explain why tonight and not any other. "Just the cast."

"I see," Rupert says, and casts an eye askance at the rest of them.

Jed's gone round for his car. James is half-carrying Adam, and Aidan and Dean are the only things holding each other up. All of them are hanging back now, wary. Richard stands solitary at the front, and Graham, who realizes he has unconsciously taken a step forward, stands as if suspended in time, a few paces behind Richard's elbow. Rupert now glances between them, mouth twisting in displeasure.

"I'm glad you had fun, then, or what passes for fun around here, anyways," he says.

Richard stiffens. Graham can see it from the set of his back and shoulders. There's a stony silence, nobody standing down, until the faint crunch of gravel and the swerve of headlights signals Jed's arrival. Still nobody moves.

Finally, Richard shifts and turns around. He looks grim, but otherwise unreadable.

"You all go," he says quietly. "I'll catch a taxi."

There is a moment of incredulity, and then they realize he's serious. Everybody stands frozen.

Richard doesn't repeat himself. He merely turns around and walks away, past Rupert, into the lot, without looking back. After a pause, Rupert unfolds his arms and pushes himself away from the wall. He gives them a last cool look, and follows.

The engine's running and they all stand in the glare of the headlights, rucksacks at their feet, staring at each other.

At long last, Aidan and Dean turn and stumble towards the car, hanging onto each other like the walking wounded. Dean looks directly at Graham before helping Aidan stagger off.

James and Adam linger longer. James looks at him measuredly.

"You'll ring," James says.

It's Adam who mumbles indignantly, "'Course he will."

"You'd better," James says.

Graham swallows, inclines his head.

James and Adam hobble to the car and get in. The door slams, and after a moment, the car rounds the drive and pulls away, red brake lights flaring and fading.

Graham doesn't wait for the spots to fade from his vision before he turns around and follows Richard and Rupert's footsteps.

\--

Graham hears them just around the corner. A row of parked trucks, wet pavement, open sky overhead; Graham slows down at least twenty yards away to stay out of sight. The trucks loom overhead on either side to form a corridor, and it's here they've stopped, among the stacked wooden scaffolding and traffic cones and plastic tape, damp tarp draped above.

"-- not why I'm here," Richard is saying tersely. The wind carries his words. "I'm here to work, you know that."

"You're done shooting."

"I won't be done for seven more months."

"Thus the need to get along with everyone here?" Rupert says. "Were you this professional in London?"

Something about the way he says this seems to sting. Richard says, "If you didn't want to be here --"

"Then I wouldn't have come," Rupert says.

After a minute, Richard says, "I'm sorry." He sounds lost. "I… don't know what it is you want."

Rupert seems to scrutinize Richard. Then, matter-of-factly, "I want you to remember what this is."

"I know what this is."

"Do you really? Because sometimes I think you've forgotten where you live."

"For now, it's here."

Rupert laughs. "'Home is where the heart is'?"

"Don't," Richard says fervently. "You matter to me. You know that. But these people matter to me. This," Richard pauses, "matters to me."

"As well it should. Play your cards right and people might start looking you in the eyes when you go in for auditions."

A sharp silence.

"Come off it, Richard," Rupert says flatly. "You've seen the one they gave the role you first read for. I've met the rest of your cast, a couple pieces of boy-totty floating in a sea of craggy old men. You're the youngest actor they auditioned for the role. Why do you think you were cast?" Rupert doesn't sound harsh, just tired, as if repeating something Richard's heard before. "You and I both know how these things work."

Richard is quiet. Then he says icily, "Well, you'd have to ask Peter about that."

"Have you?" Rupert shoots back. He sighs. "You're filming a children's book, Richard. It's big-budget but it's not going to win any awards. They're going to make their money back no matter what they do. Don't get me wrong, it's a great opportunity. But see it for what it is."

Graham can't hear anything but tarp crackling in the wind. He stares straight ahead and can't see anything through the slow haze of something rising inside him, something a little numb, a little disbelieving, a little bit like rage.

"No," Richard says suddenly. "That's what I thought at the beginning -- I was afraid at the beginning -- but it's different. You've been here a week, so maybe you can't understand --"

"But they do!" Rupert laughs. "Of bloody course I understand. I thought it was different because it was the first role you hadn't had to strip off for in years. Am I wrong about that?"

There is the sound of shoe scuffing against gravel as Richard turns on his heel.

"Richard," Rupert says. "Richard, I didn't mean it like that. Richard --"

As Graham watches, Rupert goes after him, long strides catching him up rapidly. He reaches out and snags Richard's arm, then jerks him back by the same injured wrist Graham had seen earlier. Richard lets out a small noise. Graham couldn't care less if Richard never forgives him for being here. Graham's halfway out of his hiding spot already, and he thinks, God give me a reason.

But all that happens is the two men standing still. Then Rupert moves in, and Graham feels sick when Richard doesn't pull away.

They stand with their heads bowed together, and Rupert murmurs something. He presses a kiss to Richard's cheekbone, "… call a taxi?"

There's a pause, and then Richard says heavily, "No, I don't think so. Not yet."

As Richard leads them back to the trailers, he glances over his shoulder towards Graham, and Graham freezes. But if Richard sees him, he gives no indication. He turns around, and a moment later they're gone.

\--

  
Graham doesn't go back to his hotel room that night. He sits in his trailer, the glow of the light above the sink the only illumination for what feels like miles around.

  
\--

It's five o'clock in the morning when the soft knock comes. For a moment Graham forgets where he is, and then he forgets when it is. By the time he remembers, he's opened the door.

Richard is standing outside, well back beyond the bottom step. He looks up.

"Can I come in?" he says after a moment.

His posture displays no sign of presumption, as if Graham might be fully expected to turn him away. Graham pushes his door open as wide as it will go and stands aside.

Richard steps in.

The ends of his hair are damp, like it's been misting outside. He's still in the black shirt and jeans he'd worn out the night before, and he smells like rain, like smoke and sweat from the pub. Graham knows he's not much better off, not having changed or showered either.

Graham looks Richard over warily, but aside from being a little pale -- as he always is -- he seems all right.

Richard stands in the middle of the carpet in the cramped space, taking in his surroundings. He looks about him as if every trailer wasn't really exactly the same, details aside. His curious eyes finally settle on Graham.

"There's no shooting today," he says, inquisitive.

"No," Graham says, "But I was awake."

"I know, I saw your light."

Graham flounders for something to say. "I'd offer you something to drink, but I think tea's all I have."

"That's fine. Thank you."

Graham puts the kettle on, then crosses to the other end of the trailer to grab a towel from the bathroom. On his way back, he hesitates, then pulls the blanket off the bed.

When he makes it back into the kitchen, Richard is sitting at the small table, looking at the fogged-up glass window across from him. He looks surprised when Graham offers him the towel, and amused at the blanket, but accepts both without comment. Graham pours the tea as Richard dries his hair, then slides one mug in front of Richard. He leans against the wall opposite, giving Richard room.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Richard drapes the towel around his neck. "No. You?"

Graham shakes his head, but doesn't explain why.

Richard nods. "I'm used to early starts now," he offers.

"And Rupert?"

Graham keeps this deliberately light, nothing accusing, face blank. He's an actor, this is easy. The difficulty is that Richard is also an actor, and after a few years in the trade, anybody knows a performance when they see it.

Richard doesn't call him out on it. "He's gone," he says simply.

Graham blinks. "Gone?"

"He flew out this morning."

Last night, Graham thinks. Graham isn't sure what to say without giving away what he'd overheard. He's torn for a split second between relief and terror that if something had happened, it might have been averted if he'd done something different, if he'd simply not asked Richard out with them in the first place.

Richard sits at ease, but Graham can see the tension in his shoulders as he turns the mug in his hands. "He was planning on going home last night, actually." Richard avoids his gaze. "His in-laws dropped in unexpectedly."

Graham stands stock-still and wonders how he had missed this.

He realizes then that Richard is finally looking at him directly, almost defiantly. Graham suddenly isn't sure whether to laugh or to cry. Instead he takes a deep breath and exhales, rubbing his hand over the bridge of his nose.

"Well, I can't tell you Aidan and Dean won't be glad to see the back of him," Graham jokes weakly. "I think they've been jealous."

The challenging air drops from Richard, and he finally relaxes enough to smile. In answer, he pulls his mug closer to him on the tabletop and draws his legs in, gesturing to the seat across from him. Graham collapses into it.

Richard looks at him consideringly. There's something thoughtful but elusive lingering in his expression around the mouth. Graham feels like he's being sized up, somehow, like something about him puzzles Richard. It makes him feel like he's being subjected to a test of some sort, but whatever the criteria might be is unknown to him.

Graham waits it out. He rests his arm on the table and doesn't move.

At last, Richard says, "It wasn't like this at the start."

Richard looks down, and Graham watches his hands idly push the mug around by the handle.

"I met him before I signed onto the show. We got along, and the producers liked that. We were only shooting together on set for two or three weeks, at most. He was on his way out, something of a veteran. I was the new boy. I asked him for advice, we went out for drinks, I told him I joined the series because of him, he told me he was leaving because of me." Richard smiles, like he's remembering. "It wasn't anything special. We didn't have to worry about being found out because it wasn't supposed to last. But we were shooting in London, and it's a big city, but not big enough."

Graham wonders how many times they called it off, and how many times they had to run into each other again to forget about calling it off. He wonders how many of those times were accidents. He wonders when they gave up trying to keep it quiet. He wonders who knows. He wonders if it became anything special, and when, and what it means to them. He wonders why. Funnily enough, he immediately knows he's found something he can't bring himself to blame Rupert for.

Richard continues. "I don't know what it was. Adrenaline at first, perhaps. It wasn't supposed to go on this long." He laughs ruefully. "We're both rather bad at knowing when to stop, I think."

"That you are," Graham agrees.

Richard falls silent. The mug is still between his hands, but he doesn't drink from it. Graham once again finds himself at a loss for words, trying to articulate something impossible.

It's the way Richard's hands are wrapped around the mug that makes Graham shift forward in his seat and reach out across the table. He encloses Richard's hands in his, sliding his thumbs between Richard's palms and the ceramic, loosening his grip in slow motion. Richard stiffens, but after a moment he offers his hands up. Graham takes one of them in both of his own, and turns it gently, carefully, upwards towards the light.

There's a ring of ugly black and purple bruises around the wrist, like ink stains, clearly visible against Richard's pale skin. Some are older and some are newer, a line of reddish marks like fingernail indents. There's a stripe where the edge of the band of his watch dug in. They all seem to be fading, but slowly.

Graham studies the marks for a long time. He can feel Richard looking at him.

Richard says quietly, "It's a mess, isn't it?"

"No," Graham says, looking up. He says it without thinking. "It's not."

A look of something like surprise steals across Richard's face.

Graham swallows and wants to apologize for being a coward, wants to apologize for all of them leaving Richard alone. "Even if it were, it's nothing we can't work with," he says.

Richard's palm is warm between his, and Richard is staring at Graham like he's speaking an alien language, and all at once, Graham feels incredibly, unaccountably ridiculous, like the moment before the curtain rises and the show begins, like standing up at an audition to read for a role he really wants, like holding his breath and stepping off a map, into uncharted territory where he really shouldn't be. But he doesn't let go.

Richard looks at Graham like he's never seen him before. And then he shakes his head and lets out a small laugh, as if genuinely amazed.

When Richard looks up, Graham thinks momentarily that Peter might be onto something with that high-tech 3-D frame-rate nonsense. He could memorize every detail of Richard's face and still not understand what it does when the man smiles.

"He doesn't think this is going to change things, you know."

Graham finds his voice. "What do you think?"

Richard slides his hand back, but his eyes are on Graham's, blue like electric shock. "He's been wrong before."

 

The sky is brightening outside the window, blending the shadows inside into hues of watercolor grey. Richard strips the towel from around his neck, then shakes out the blanket. He shuffles a bit, long legs folded beneath the table, kicking out the edges. Then he looks at Graham, tilts his head to the side, and lifts one corner of the blanket questioningly.

Graham feels a smile tugging at his mouth, but obliges, getting up and moving to the other side of the table. He squeezes in beside Richard, and it's something of a cram, but it's not uncomfortable: the heat in the trailer's been turned down low in anticipation of the break, and the blanket is a welcome refuge from the chill. They scuffle and jab each other in the sides until they find a spatial equilibrium.

Once they've settled, Richard says, "There's no shooting today."

"I know."

"Are you thinking of going anywhere?"

"You mean after napping for a week?" Graham chuckles. "Fishing, maybe."

Richard makes an amused sound that Graham can feel against his side. "Fishing?"

"What?" Graham says. "What about you?"

"I've been meaning to try some mountain-climbing."

Graham laughs. Only Richard would consider mountain-climbing an appropriate holiday after the shooting schedule they'd been on. "Are you sure? We'll certainly be doing enough of it on location after the break."

"I thought I'd get a head start. Get into character."

"How often have you gotten out of character the whole time we've been here?"

"You know Viggo Mortensen slept with his horse during filming when they did Lord of the Rings here ten years ago? I'm not really sure what Peter's standards are for his actors."

Graham grins and shakes his head. Crazies, the lot of them.

Suddenly, Richard shifts. He says, "Could we just stay here, do you think? For now."

Richard's too close for Graham to comfortably turn his head to look at him, so Graham doesn't. He can feel the heat of Richard's leg next to his own, smell the rainwater clinging to his clothes. Graham's heart is in his throat, and Richard's waiting for an answer, and Graham finds he hasn't felt this young in a long time.

"Sure," Graham says easily.

It's not much, he thinks, but maybe belonging isn't about where you are. They have the time to figure it out.

For now they sit, and they watch the blinds over the window stripe the inside of the trailer blue, then rose, then gold.

 

 


End file.
